


Smoke and Mirrors

by coffee-in-bed (littlemel)



Category: Ella Enchanted - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemel/pseuds/coffee-in-bed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The warped glass distorts the familiar lines of his face so that it's his father looking back at him from the glass, and for the first time, Char looks inside instead of out, and sees what his father wanted him to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> A gift, of sorts, for an anniversary, of sorts.

One of Char's earliest and most cherished memories of his father is the day King Florian took him by the hand and led him through the sunlit labyrinth of the castle to the Hall of Mirrors; it was spring and the leaves on the vines were pale bright green, the same color as the light through them.

He remembers his father's hand on his shoulder, heavy and warm and safe as they stood in front of one of the mirrors, Char nearly a mirror image of his father. Their reflections were like fractured time, halves of halves, or maybe wholes of halves.

"Look upon your reflection, Char," his father said, voice deep and soothing, "and see yourself as a great leader." He squeezed Char's shoulder and stepped back, away from the mirror, and Char blinked at the boy looking back at him.

He tried to imagine himself sitting on the throne, not on his father's knee but on the plush seat itself, tried to feel the weight of a crown on his head and the fate of a nation on his shoulders, but saw only a floppy-haired and big-eyed child with skinned knees and dirt under his fingernails. He shrugged and toed the dusty ground, scratched at his nose and turned to find his father watching him with an amused grin.

"Perhaps you're a bit young, still," Florian laughed, scooping Char up in his arms. "But someday..." He ruffled Char's hair affectionately. "Someday you'll see."

*

Seven summers later Char is old enough to be sent off to school, but he is home before the first snowfall, to attend his father's funeral and Edgar's coronation. He watches both ceremonies through wet eyes, numb and disbelieving as he sees his father's crown set upon his uncle's head.

He goes to the Hall of Mirrors his last night in the castle, at dusk when he should be at supper with Edgar, but he hasn't had much appetite since hearing of the ogre attack. He has to squint in the greyish light, and the brown vines drop withered leaves onto the floor with every breath of wind through the high windows.

A different boy looks back at him now than the one he remembers, though his hair is still unkempt, and his eyes, even swollen and red, are perhaps still a bit large for his face. But his fingernails are clean, his palms stained with their half-moon shape from clenching his hands. He's lost the roundness of youth, has become instead tall and lean, but hasn't yet learned to hold himself like royalty.

He can no more see himself a king now than he could as a child, with his father looking over his shoulder.

His foot skitters over a small rock and he hurls it at the closest mirror with a cry louder than the crash of the glass, glittering shards raining down at his feet, and when he looks down he can see only pieces of himself, shattered and fractured, broken as he feels.

He sits on the small dais in the center of the room, shoulders hunched and shaking as he weeps for the loss of his father; his king, the hero of his childhood, and the mentor of his adolescence.

*

Another five years pass before Char returns to the Hall of Mirrors, with Ella on his arm and a ring in his pocket. Autumn is just beginning to creep in, the vines still mostly green but browning at the edges, the stone floor littered with the first casualties of the cooler nights.

The smashed mirror has been repaired, but poorly; the warped glass distorts the familiar lines of his face so that it's his father looking back at him from the glass, and for the first time, Char looks inside instead of out, and sees what his father wanted him to see: someone who could rule his people with a fast head and a fair heart; who was a worthy successor to a king as well-loved as his father, who would restore the peace that came so easily under his father's reign.

He sees the knife in the half-second before Ella drops it, before the doors open and Edgar is there calling for the guards, and there's a strange ringing in Char's ears, pierced by Ella's screams as the guards take her away, the sound of a thousand mirrors breaking.  
  
"Come, Char, you shouldn't stay here." Edgar says, but Char shakes his uncle's hand off his shoulder.

"Leave me be," he says, breathing fast and shallow over the racing of his pulse, the lump swelling in the back of his throat as he realizes he's still clutching the engagement ring. "Please, Uncle. I just need a moment to myself."  
  
Edgar hesitates. "I'll wait for you in your chambers." He disappears through the door at Char's back.

The dagger gleams brightly from the floor, half-hidden beneath the leaves; it's still warm when Char picks it up, the handle slick with sweat. His face, reflected in the blade, is almost unrecognizable in its grief and confusion. Char's legs finally give out and he sinks to the cold stone floor, holding the ring in one hand and the dagger in the other, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, unwilling and unable to see himself so defeated.

*

Char brings Ella back to the Hall of Mirrors on the eve of his botched coronation, after Edgar has been taken away and the palace is still buzzing with the news of his betrayal. The small room is shot through with the pink light of sundown, dusty beams bouncing from mirror to mirror; a leaf flutters down at the stir of air from the opening door, crunching underfoot as Char leads Ella to the dais and kneels before her a second time, feeling unsteady but for her hand in his.

"Well, tonight didn't exactly go according to plan." He tries to laugh, but it lodges in his chest, and Ella's fingers tighten around his. "But I still want to do this the right way." He fishes in his pocket for the ring he's been carrying with him since the night before; a reminder of all he had gained and lost, and now found again. "Ella of Frell, will you marry me?"  
  
"Yes," she whispers, and her eyes are wet as he slips the ring on her finger and presses his lips to the back of her hand. The shredded skirt of her ruined gown rustles as she pulls him to his feet, into the warmth of her embrace. She clings to him as they kiss, her fingers digging into his collar, sliding up to tangle in his hair when he turns his face to her neck.

When he opens his eyes and raises them to the mirror, his reflection is nothing but shadows; she's all he can see, shining brightly in the gathering dark.

*

Char is approaching his twenty-fifth year when he takes his firstborn son by his chubby hand and leads him through the castle to the Hall of Mirrors, leaving Ella in the garden with their newborn daughter.  
  
"Where are we going?" Florian asks, skipping to keep up with Char's long strides.

"To the Hall of Mirrors. My father took me there when I was your age, and asked me to do something very important."  
  
"And now it's my turn?"

Char nods, smiling. "Now it's your turn."

The summer sun is muted by the ivy twining around the windows, thin beams of light shining between the leaves and reflecting off the mirrors. Florian runs to the dais and stands in the center, his arms outstretched, spinning round faster and faster until his feet tangle and he falls down, giggling.

Char watches him, delighted, helps him to his feet and brushes off his dusty palms and knees. He plucks a twig from Florian's hair and stands him in front of the same mirror he himself stood before all those long years ago with his own father.

"Look," he says, pointing to the mirror before stepping away so that he is no longer reflected there. "What do you see?"

Florian pokes his tongue through the gap where his tooth fell out the week before. "It's just me. I could've seen that in my own rooms." He looks over his shoulder, hands on his hips, and Char chuckles at how very much he looks like Ella just then.

"Yes," Char laughs. "I suppose you could've." He turns Florian to face the mirror again. "Look once more. Can you see yourself a king, Florian?"

Florian's face squinches up. "I guess."

He sweeps Florian up into his arms. "Someday," he says, hugging Florian to him. "Someday you'll see."


End file.
